


A Man of a Thousand Masks

by velvetnoire



Series: Senbazuru (One Thousandth of a Foolish Wish) [2]
Category: Witch's Heart (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 12:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15049472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetnoire/pseuds/velvetnoire
Summary: Come on, big brother. I’ll whisper a little secret in your ear, just for you.





	A Man of a Thousand Masks

I knew a man who could don many faces. A multitude of masks lay at his disposal, and he had no qualms of utilizing each and every one.

He could bear one of quiet solemnity - still as the surface of the sea without a breeze in sight, its fathomless depths concealing what lay within. Such a façade would conceal an eloquent man of few words, unveiling silver-hued wisdom in the moments one needed them most. In moments of epiphany, his intelligent eyes would gleam like the copper coins he earned, the scent like the tang of iron in the air.

Now and then a chuckle would spill from his lips as he mused to himself, burning the midnight oil. The scent of incense would diffuse from his room like the haze of a dream, the scented smoke diffusing through the open window. When the moon rose high in the night to greet the scattered stars, he would be the the sole witness to the sight.

The face he liked most was a lie. But did he ever have a true self? I wondered if he was a fool like the number zero: blank yet so filled with a thousand possibilities, each as veritable as the last.

Yes, he did prefer the saccharine smile that upturned his lips, curling unnaturally wide; his eyes would be alight with mirth just as sickeningly sweet, his laugh unbridled and infectious.

But another face of his was far more sincere: he could wear one contorted in anger, rage pulsing hot in his veins and laughter sharp and brittle; oh, this was a face I liked the least.

I thought his true face was far too vulnerable, cradled in a palm and lost in thought. It was distant and it was bittersweet, his smile instead so very small yet gentle - as if directed towards someone precious. His laugh was quiet yet radiant, echoing into the eventide without an audience to his mirth.

He’d read a book aloud to attentive ears and eyes wide with wonder, questions bursting at frequent intervals until he’d hold a finger to his lips, quelling curiosity - if only until after he was done.

I wish I could have seen that face once more: so very gentle and so very warm.  

I wish I could have seen the true you again.

But the true you has long changed, hasn’t it? A, B, C, D - if this were a test you’d be all of the above, a mixture of every single answer. You’d be a mess ripped at the seams and grief seeping through the bereft hollows of the you who had once been whole. That ribbon of yours is a memento you clutch closely to your still-beating heart, and perhaps by guarding it you can keep that memory of laughter alive.

Perhaps you can learn to reinvent yourself like a phoenix from ashes, but no. Don’t you lie to me, because I know that your heart still aches and your hands tremble even now, slick with sweat on the blade raised above.

Don’t tell me you don’t see the echo in her. Or - lie to yourself as you bring the blade down, down, down, like gravity pulling you to your knees and collapsing inwards like a dying star.

Oh, Ashe - didn’t you tell me you wanted to go out not with a whimper, but a bang? What a pity, then, that your heart howls like a wounded thing - like you had turned the blade on yourself instead and pierced something vital. But instead you are bleeding from so many invisible wounds, you don’t know where they begin nor end.

 It’s alright. If you insist on being a liar, I hope the smoke chokes your lungs until you whisper goodnight. Tuck the ghost of your little sister back to bed, just one last time.

Come on, big brother. I’ll whisper a little secret in your ear, just for you.

_You can never bring us back. Not now, and not ever._

So why do you insist on staggering on? Over and over again with desperation dogging your every footstep - an ever-faithful hound that nips at your heels as you trudge stubbornly onwards, aching and forlorn.

Did you love me? But no, no, the memories intermix with mine and I find that I am…I am not the one you seek, only a shadow of what she had been.

But the echo speaks to me in a hushed whisper, childish and giggling.

You can’t keep going on like this. She loved you, you know - not with the love of a caress and a kiss, no, but a tight hug when your face is tear-streaked and drawn, welcoming you home with a smile after a long day. In the little things - a portion set aside, heated-up leftovers and a little note signed with a flourish - nostalgic memories bring nothing but remorse to you and your bleeding heart. So - stop lingering in the regrets of the past.

Live for the future, big brother. I know that you can make it brighter and better than you could ever imagine.

**Author's Note:**

> Ashe truly is fascinating to write...To explain, this is from the perspective of Ashe's younger sister (as seen in the photo) - but as a ghost of sorts. Not his actual little sister, but an echo - or perhaps a memory - of who she had been. 
> 
> Perhaps instead, they may be yet another of his dreams - a fleeting fantasy of the past, and this is all conjured by his mind. It is up for the reader to choose which interpretation suits best.


End file.
